


Small Comforts

by BalianofTheirry



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Blood and Violence, M/M, Pining Lance (Voltron), Shiro is Tired, more tags as the story progresses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-17
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-11-01 19:14:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10928256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BalianofTheirry/pseuds/BalianofTheirry
Summary: Up close, Lance could see the bags beneath his eyes and the wrinkles in his forehead. He wasn’t caked in dirt, alluding to the possibility of running water, which excited Lance to no end, yet nothing could compare to the energy that surfaced at seeing his long-lost companion. He wanted to hug him, to kiss him, to scream and cry in relief, because things were finally looking up. But, right now, Shiro wouldn’t even spare him a glance. His gaze was trained over the top of Lance’s head, scanning the area for any sign of danger. As he trailed Hunk into the empty hallway, his heart sank. Because although they had found Shiro, it seemed he was lost for good.





	Small Comforts

**Author's Note:**

> Haha wow somewhere between finals and death I wrote this. It isn't great, and it is going to need major touch ups when it isn't 3 a.m. This fic was a prompt thanks to taovol over on good ol' Tumblr.com. The referenced prompt is attached-let me know if I'm on the right track! All comments and kudos are greatly appreciated.  
> https://taovol.tumblr.com/post/158898031999/haha-no-for-real-tho-where-is-the-100k-shance

“EUGH!!”

  
Lance jerked his gaze from over the hood of the Porsche, turning to see his best friend’s boot connect with the crown of a disembodied head, in haste to push it away. It rolled, coming to rest a few feet away with its lifeless, rotting eyes seemingly staring through them.

  
Hunk forced his palm to his mouth, breathing heavy as he fought the urge to gag. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he clenched his eyes and teeth shut.

  
Lance reached to wipe his own brow and grimaced. Sure, he appreciated a good mud mask every now and again, but this was far too literal for his taste. He could feel the dirt and grime layering on his skin, worsening with every day. When was the last time he got to shower? Dropping his hand back to his lap as he settled down beside Hunk, he inspected his once pristine nails, appalled by the collection of blood and clay.

  
He didn’t have long to mull over the state of his appearance though, as a low inhuman growl sounded from the other side of the car. Without so much as a second thought, the teen brandished the momentarily discarded 19 millimeter and leaned haphazardly over the hood, shooting once—twice—until the creature fell dead with a gurgled shriek. What was clearly once a woman, with long blonde hair, now lay in a heap of contaminated flesh and disfigured features. Lance was sure that once upon a time, he would have found her to be quite attractive. Maybe even grilled her for her number with feeble attempts at flirting. But now as he slumped back down beside his friend letting out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding, surrounded by the remnants of the undead, that world seemed so far away.

  
He choked on a breathless laugh, his head rolling back with the sheer absurdity of it all before he spared a glance at Hunk. “Just like a video game, huh buddy?”  
Hunk stared back, his doe eyes strained and tired.

  
Lance turned his eyes back to the sky, graying clouds heavy with the threat of rain, and gave another throaty exhale. “Shit.”

  
~/=/~

  
No one knew the source of the outbreak; it simply blossomed into existence one day. Lance still remembers the night they evacuated the Garrison. There were so many fires. It seemed as though damn near everything had been set ablaze in a futile attempt to eliminate or at least contain the disease.

  
Along with the rest of the students, they were forcibly removed from school grounds and wished the best of luck in returning to their homes. It was humane, in theory, allowing them to be with their families for the imminent end. However, most of the locals had been infected already, and a majority of students would not make it through the night if unarmed.

  
Lance’s stomach still churns at the thought of Pidge. They had been separated the night of the evacuation and had not heard from him since. Pidge was smart, yes, but the circumstances were unlike any other. Lance knew full well that had he and Hunk not stumbled across a group of slain military personnel, allowing them to arm themselves with multiple weapons of high caliber, they would not be alive. Brain power alone could not kill a zombie. Not as far as Lance was concerned.

  
Now weighted with ammunition, they had taken shelter in an abandoned convenience store, untouched by the raging fires, and stayed for the first few days. They took turns keeping watch at night. 2 hours on-- 2 hours off. They had made a little nest for themselves wedged in the back corner of the shelves, keeping an eye trained on the door.

Lance made himself sick on junk food more than once, but he insisted their options were limited. Hunk perused the store for anything perishable and made a point to consume that first. But after some time, neither of them could stand the thought of eating lukewarm fruits and stale jerky for another day.

  
The first time they encountered a zombie, Lance decided that no amount of first person shooters could actually prepare him to load a gun and face such a creature. It wasn’t large, by any means; in fact it quite resembled an elderly man with how it moved so sluggishly. It had crawled through the window Hunk had propped open to encourage some air flow in the stifling building. Bowed limbs, pale and bloodied, with sickly flesh falling off of bone that made a sickeningly wet sound as it moved. Its jaw was dislocated, hanging wide and shining with blood and its nails and teeth were embedded and infected. Its clothes and hair had been marred in the fires.

  
And worst of all its eyes… The color had bled and ran. There were no distinguishable shapes in those eyes. They were not human. They were horrific.

  
It took four poorly placed bullets to drop the monster just out of arms reach from the boys. Lance’s mind was reeling, his mouth gaping and breath trembling. His throat tightened as he tried to regain his composure, lowering the handgun to hide the shaking in his hands.

  
Hunk was in tears. His eyes were wide and wet in shock and terror. His own hands were grappling for purchase, one on his own gun and the other balled up in the back of Lance’s sleeve.

  
The kept each other grounded that night, embraced tightly with weapons at the ready. They don’t talk about how they cried together; once for their families, once for Pidge, and once for themselves. They didn’t sleep. A chilling breeze cut through the summer heat like a knife …neither would get close enough to close the window.

  
~/=/~

  
It had been days since then. Maybe weeks. The concept of time became elusive when one was no longer counting down the seconds until the end of a lecture or until the lunch bell rang. They had since left the shelter of the convenience store in favor of locating fresh food and if fate allowed-- other survivors. It sounded so wrong on his tongue. Survivor. It was a word Lance had never expected to use to describe himself. An incredibly lucky break and a half decent shot. That’s what Lance was. Survivors were strong. Lance had never felt weaker. Survivors were brave. Lance had never felt more afraid. Nevertheless, his hands had stopped shaking when he pointed a gun, and his eyes had stopped watering while Hunk was fast asleep.

  
And Hunk had made progress too. He no longer had trouble loading his ammo and he didn’t get sick at the first sight of blood. Well… Most of the time.  
They started taking longer cycles during the night, now 4 hours on and off. And though more rested, their bodies began to ache with physical exertion. They had started towards the city limits after discovering that the area had been gutted. Any survivors must’ve taken necessities and burned what was left. So they walked, for multiple hours at a time in the sweltering heat, gathering what they could find. A toppled vendor cart here, some bullets there. They were fortunate enough to stumble across a hardware store that had not been entirely stripped. After pocketing some essential tools, they were on their way once more.

  
At this point they had just about seen it all. Old zombies, young zombies, unidentifiable zombies, fat zombies, thin zombies—Lance was certain that they had seen an Iverson zombie and had no qualms about using a few extra bullets just to be sure that it was dead.

  
And yet among all the chaos, they were still utterly alone. Hunk had begun talking in his sleep, longing for his family; for Pidge. Lance would be lying if he had said he wasn’t terrified of what may have become of his own siblings. There was no way to know for certain that the outbreak hadn’t reached Veradero Beach, but Lance held onto the possibility that perhaps the containment was effective and that the end was in sight-that his mama and papa were safe and waiting for his return. It Hunk needed him to be.  
Now they were cycling back to the Garrison compound in hopes of finding some sort of vehicle to get them cross-country, all the way to Washington D.C. in hopes that the capital remained unaffected. Sure there were cars scattered here and there along the main road, but much like the Porsche they were currently using as cover, they ran on gasoline. The thought of breaking down in the middle of the desert with no hope of contact, made both of their stomachs churn.

  
The Garrison officers were gifted hover bikes during their years of seniority for easier transport between the compound and deployments. Running on a gold compound, they had a hell of a lifespan. It was their best bet at finding salvation and returning to their families.

  
“Come on buddy,” Lance huffed, pushing himself from the ground with a steadying hand on the wheel well. “We better get going. It’s getting late.” The afternoon sun was unbearable as the two started their trek back to the school.

  
~/=/~

 

“Lance it’s this way.”

  
“Hunk, darling, if there’s a secret entrance it is most definitely this way. I snuck around this place for ages. I know these things.”

  
They had made it to the Garrison. With hardly any problems at all. In fact, it was suspiciously quiet. A zombie here, a rogue fire there, but otherwise, far too simple. Hunk was wary of every turn they took and it the anticipation was starting to wear on them both. The sun was setting quickly now and as they stood at the foot of the school in waist high piles of rubble they were debating the location of the hover bikes’ hangar.

  
“That’s not something to brag about, man. Listen, the bikes had to be easily accessible by the officers, so don’t you think it would be located by the Captains’ bunks?”

  
“Good point, but overruled. We’re going this way.” He gestured toward the front of the building. He heard Hunk rambling behind him about how ‘immature’ he was being, but he hardly paid it any mind, especially when a bullet tore through the air, not even six feet from his face. He let out a shriek, nearly rivaling Hunk’s own in pitch and volume stumbling in a frantic search for the bullet’s origin.

  
“What business do you have here?” Human. The voice was low and thick and human behind the bandanna that hid the marksman’s nose and mouth. His hair and clothes were dark, nearly camouflaging him with the charred cement of the Garrison’s front walls. His eyes were trained on the pair, narrowed with the intent to kill, a double-barreled shot gun at the ready.

  
Lance was never good at interpreting body language.

  
“Dude, you have no idea how glad we are to see-”

  
“Drop your weapons now!” Lance startled from his relief, letting his gun clatter to the ground against his better judgement. A quick glance to Hunk showed that he had done the same, hands raised above his head in an attempt to appease the other man.

  
“Hey man! What the hell?! We’re good guys just like you-”

  
“Shut your mouth. What business do you have here,” he repeated, slower this time as if Lance were dense.

  
Before Lance could think up some sensible response a deeper voice sounded from behind the marksman.

  
“Keith! What’s going on?” A man tore out from inside the depths of the building brandishing a weapon of his own. His eyes were dark with worry, anger set deep in his features, ready to fight.

  
Those eyes scrutinized the pair before softening in recognition. The man cocked his head to the side, muscles still tightly bunched, ready to shoot in a moment’s notice.

  
“Lance?”

  
Lance was floored.

  
He stood tall and broad shouldered just like he remembered. He still had rippling musculature and thin lips in the palest shade of pink. And yet, he was so different. The bangs that swept his forehead were white, likely due to extreme stress, and a discolored, jagged scar blemished the bridge of his nose. His once kind eyes took on the steel of a soldier’s. Perhaps the worst of all was the makeshift tourniquet tied haphazardly where his right shoulder should have met the strong bicep Lance remembered fawning over. Instead there was nothing. Nothing but a white cloth smudged with dirt and dried blood.

  
Takashi Shirogane. Lance’s hero and crush of many years, before he was deployed into outer space, to accomplish what Lance could only dream of. His good friend, standing before him, wearing the weight of worlds on his shoulders—and age that far exceeded him. He looked worn and weary, and yet Lance was sure he’d never seen anything more beautiful.

  
A smile tugged at his lips, so big and bright it split his chapped lips. “Shiro? Holy crow, it’s really you!” He started to move forward, to close the distance between them, when a bullet plowed into the ground merely a foot before him, cascading dirt and sending Lance reeling back with a startled cry. It took him a moment to compose himself, gaping at the stranger-Keith- who had exchanged his double barrel for a pistol, and had shot at his feet with cold indifference.

  
“A-Are you serious?! Shiro, can you tell your guard dog to step off!”

  
Despite the wariness edging his features, Shiro motioned Keith’s weapon off his target.

  
“They’re friends Keith. But we’re attracting unwanted attention. Let’s head inside.”

  
Keith gave a disgruntled snarl but dropped the pistol, glaring at the pair all the while.

  
“You heard the man, move.”

  
Shiro held the door with the heel of his boot as Lance and Hunk approached allowing them entrance without any further hassle. Up close, Lance could see the bags beneath his eyes and the wrinkles in his forehead. He wasn’t caked in dirt, alluding to the possibility of running water, which excited Lance to no end, yet nothing could compare to the energy that surfaced at seeing his long-lost companion. He wanted to hug him, to kiss him, to scream and cry in relief, because things were finally looking up. But, right now, Shiro wouldn’t even spare him a glance. His gaze was trained over the top of Lance’s head, scanning the area for any sign of danger. As he trailed Hunk into the empty hallway, his heart sank. Because although they had found Shiro, it seemed he was lost for good.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think!


End file.
